


limits past the limits

by bluebatwings



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), one time i read a fic where laura was clint's sister, unabashedly stealing that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-31 00:05:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13962990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebatwings/pseuds/bluebatwings
Summary: "The last time that goddamn kid got in Clint’s way, he took nine bullets for it. Clint is still pissed about it."





	limits past the limits

The last time that goddamn kid got in Clint’s way, he took nine bullets for it. Clint is still pissed about it. He’s so mad that he doesn’t sleep, he doesn’t eat. He doesn’t go outside. Laura mentions the word _depression_. She says it’s natural, but maybe he should try to work through it. They don’t share the kind of twin bond that-- that the Maximoffs did, but sometimes it really is like Laura can almost read his mind. Clint tries to block her out as best as he can. Keep to himself. She has a new baby to mother, she shouldn’t have to be that for her brother too. 

The first time that goddamn kid got in Clint’s way, he made an impression, that’s for damn sure. Clint was pissed then, too, this cocky asshole came out of nowhere with his _”You didn’t see that coming?”_ and was suddenly always two steps ahead. Clint is _good_ at his job-- you don’t become an Avenger for _not_ being the sharpest shooter alive-- but along comes this kid who throws all sense of order out the window. Worse than that, though? Who makes him feel _old_. Clint had never thought _I’m getting too old for this_ before the Maximoff twins entered his life. 

He thought that he was too old for this kind of grief, too-- he’s lost his fair share of colleagues over the years, it’s something one learns to accept in his line of work. But god _damn_ , he just had to go and make friends with that asshole, didn’t he? Or, no-- that asshole hadn’t stopped bugging him until Clint admitted to a grudging acceptance of him. 

Whenever Clint calls him names like that, Laura gives him this look-- something admonishing, meant to convey _have some respect for the dead._ Nat understands, though. She’s been in this business even longer than Clint has. She knows that by calling him asshole and goddamn kid and pain in the ass, Clint is keeping him alive, maybe even pretending he’s not dead at all. (One of the things Clint has in common with Natasha is stubbornness, the refusal to accept anything as is. Really, neither of them are very good at accepting their emotions at face value.)

Clint hasn’t talked to Wanda in the two weeks since it happened. He figures she doesn’t call because she blames him. That’s fine-- Clint blames himself, too. He doesn’t call because he doesn't know how he could face her grief. In comparison to what Wanda must feel, Clint feels undeserving of his own level of pain. Wanda lost her brother, her only family, the one thing she loved most dearly in all the world. What has Clint lost? An acquaintance? A student? A friend?

It is true that they had spent most of their time together in the days before. Not because Clint _wanted_ to, but because the kid wouldn’t leave him alone. Clint would be bombarded with questions, could hardly answer one before there was another, but his answers were always carefully listened to. Before long, Clint took it upon himself to teach the kid _stillness. Silence._ He didn’t mind talking, but he wanted to teach the value of quiet as well. It was in those moments of stillness that Clint felt like he was really learning things about him. Aptly named _Quicksilver_ , the kid couldn’t keep himself from fidgeting. But there were moments. Moments when their eyes would meet, and a calmness would come over them. And maybe there was something _underneath_ that too. Clint hadn’t really let himself think about it then. It next to kills him to let himself think about it now. There was a heat, an expectation. Anticipation of something to come. 

Or not. He’s dead now.

His body is being held in cryo, for purposes Clint doesn’t want to think about. It’s been two weeks, but his body will still be as it was, intact, or, as intact as any body is after taking nine bullets. 

There comes a night when Clint is drunk enough, and angry enough, and just fucking _sad_ enough that he shows up at Helen Cho’s door and responds to her startled expression with:

“Bring him back.”

“Clint?” she says, still shocked, apparently. His hands are curled up into fists at his sides. Not to hit-- it’s because they’re going numb in the cold. “Bring back-- who?”

He breathes out hard through his nose and says, _”Pietro.”_

She tells him it can’t be done, she tells him, _we’ve tried everything_ , and before he can ask, she says, _Wanda too._

He’s so pissed at Pietro for being dead that he can’t see straight and Helen lets him sleep it off on her couch. She must contact Natasha, because she’s there when he wakes up the next morning, an unreadable expression on her face. That’s nothing new, it’s practically neutral for her. 

He mutters something unintelligible, and not even he knows what it is, and he is shocked to see something like-- well. Something like sadness flit across Nat’s face. Sadness for _him_. Jesus. He must be in worse shape than he knows.

The problem now is that he’s feeling it. It was easier, before. He had been getting by, fueled by the fucking injustice of it all. But something had cracked. He had said his name. 

He hadn’t been consciously avoiding saying it, but-- now that he sees it, it’s obvious. He looks at Natasha and says,

“Pietro shouldn’t be dead.”

Natasha sighs, a heavy sound, before she answers, “Some things, you just can’t change. No matter how wrong it is.”

Clint knows it’s true. He knows it. But he says,

“Fuck that,” and he stands up and tries to do the impossible.

~~

It’s crazy, it’s fucking unknowable, but it just might work. That’s what all the science nerds are saying, anyway. Wanda was the only one who would listen at first, because _of course_ ; she is the only other one willing to do whatever it takes. She’d already tried using her powers, had done that straight off. She had nearly died, too. Bruce doesn’t want her to try again, which makes sense. But maybe… maybe if she wasn’t doing it alone.

Helen protests that her equipment doesn’t work like that, but Vision is proof, _living_ proof, that they might have no idea what they’re really capable of. It seems like magic, but it’s all science in the end-- Clint doesn’t care either way what they call it, he just knows they need to fucking _try_.

~~

When Pietro gasps awake, awake, _alive _, there are shouts from the scientists, sobs from Wanda, quiet amazement from Natasha, and an almost hilarious confusion from Pietro himself. From Clint, for now, there is only one sentence. One sentence that will begin a chain reaction, he’s sure, inside of Pietro, inside of himself. When Pietro finally rests his gaze on him, Clint makes his face smile and he says, softly, “Bet you didn’t see that coming.”__


End file.
